


whatever here that's left of me is yours (just as it was)

by ladybonehollows



Category: Green Creek Series - T.J. Klune
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Book 2: Ravensong, Canon Divergent, Fighting As Foreplay, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonehollows/pseuds/ladybonehollows
Summary: “Who is he?” he snarled, and the sharp pang of relief that I couldn’t stop myself from feeling at the sight of him was immediately swallowed up by fury.Because who the fuck did he think he was? What the fuck did he thinkthiswas? I crossed my arms over my chest, well aware of the bite mark just above my nipple, the bruise that had been sucked into my neck. “Who is whom?”Gordo wakes up to Mark at his door, but the man he'd brought home the night before has gone.
Relationships: Mark Bennett/Gordo Livingstone
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	whatever here that's left of me is yours (just as it was)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sam and Gigi for betaing this for me! This is what you get for ruining my life with this mess of characters who I would now protect with my life.

The light was harsh when my eyes blinked open, and I closed them again immediately, turning my head to bury my face in the pillow. I still felt exhausted — it must have been early, but the ache all through my body, the dryness of my throat, were too distracting for me to let myself fall back into sleep so easily. I didn’t know what time I’d crawled into bed last night, or how much I’d drank, but the aftertaste of beer was sour on my tongue.

I rolled over, stretching out my limbs, and it was only when I felt the scratch of the sheets on bare skin that I realised that I was naked. I hadn’t come home alone last night.

But the bed was empty. And cold. I looked around the room, but there was no stranger's clothes on the floor. Was he still in the house? Probably not. He was probably long gone.

His features were fuzzy in my memory, his name beyond my reach. But I remembered clearly the wedding ring on his finger.

I tried to dig up some guilt.

I felt flat. And tired.

That was probably close enough.

Letting out my breath slowly, I tried to relax my body back into sleep, but my bladder was protesting, my head pounding, my throat sore. I could lie here, suffering through the hangover, hoping to pass out again and wake up feeling better.

Just a few minutes to deal with these discomforts, and I knew I would sleep better. I pulled myself out of bed begrudgingly and tugged on yesterday’s jeans, stumbling into the bathroom. In the kitchen, I took a clean glass from the cupboard, filled it from the tap, and drank half of it before digging around in my top drawer for the half empty bottle of Tylenol. 

I was refilling the glass to take back to bed with me when someone knocked on the door. I stared at it, hoping that whoever it was would go away if they didn’t hear me. I was asleep. I wasn’t home.

The knock came again. I sighed.

I briefly considered finding a shirt, but whoever was pounding on my door at seven a.m. didn’t get to complain about me answering the door shirtless. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. Ten a.m., whatever. I opened the door.

And froze.

I wasn’t expecting to see Mark.

Mark, whose eyes were wild, his nostrils flaring.

“Who is he?” he snarled, and the sharp pang of relief that I couldn’t stop myself from feeling at the sight of him was immediately swallowed up by fury.

Because who the fuck did he think he was? What the fuck did he think _this_ was? I crossed my arms over my chest, well aware of the bite mark just above my nipple, the bruise that had been sucked into my neck. “Who is whom?”

Mark’s lip curled back, baring his teeth. “Don’t, just — what the _fuck_ , Gordo?”

He was angry, and that made _me_ angry. I hated that he thought he had a _right_ to be pissed at me, that he was here at all, that he was going to leave again. I hated how good it felt to see him, despite everything else. The anger circled around and around inside me until it spun into a weapon. I didn’t know how to be anything else with him, not anymore.

“I think it’s pretty much exactly the fuck you think it is.”

Growling — fucking _growling_ at me, fucking _werewolves_ — Mark pushed his way past me into the house. I turned slowly to see him pacing around the living room, trailing his hands on everything in his path.

I knew what he was doing, and it only made me angrier. I closed the front door behind me, not wanting the neighbours to hear the inevitable yelling. It was hard enough to hold back the magic that itched at my fingertips, let alone my voice as well. “Are you going to show up and do this every time I bring a boy home?”

Mark was on me so quickly that I didn’t see him move. His hands closed around my arms and then my back was against the wall before I could blink. His eyes were inches from mine, and the panic in them shocked right through me. “You… you can’t,” he said, through a mouthful of fangs.

He didn’t scare me. I didn’t think he was trying to. I lifted my chin, and met his eye evenly. “What does it matter?” I said, lifting my chin. “You expect me to _wait_ for you? Your lover in his ivory tower, pining away for you until you deign to show up on my doorstep?” I scowled at him, at the surprise in his eyes. Did he really expect me to be okay with whatever the fuck was left between us? “But I’m not your lover, am I?” I said, getting my hands between us so I could flatten them on his chest and push him away. He staggered back, his brows drawn together. “Because I offered you everything — _everything_ — and you walked away.”

His fangs had gone, and the eyes that stared down at me were too human in their hopelessness. “I didn’t walk away,” he said.

Except that he _had._ “You walked away,” I repeated firmly. My headache had barely started to recede, and I resisted the urge to dig my fingers into my temples. I didn’t want him to see me struggling. I stepped out from between him and the wall, not wanting him to see me weak, either. I walked around the tiny dining table to lean against the kitchen counter to put some space between us. “Thomas clicked his fingers and you chased after him like a good little puppy dog.”

His eyes followed me around the room, “I didn’t walk away,” he said, and I gritted my teeth as he took a step toward me. “I’m here. I’m here _right now._ ”

I wished fruitlessly for a larger house. For my heart to stop pounding in my chest at the sight of him so close. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. “Yeah. Sure, Mark. Here for me, or here to check in on the territory for Thomas? Is this your only stop, or are you detouring through the forest?” Mark was silent, his face falling, and — _oh_. “It’s not even that, is it? This isn’t even your first stop, is it?”

Mark took another step toward me, his mouth twisted into a grimace. His hand trailed along the surface of my dining table, like he couldn’t help himself. His other hand came up as though he were reaching out to me, but after a moment it dropped to his side. “Gordo —”

“Get out.”

“What?”

It was obvious where his priorities lay. I could see how things stood, and I wasn’t going to let him have this power over me anymore. My anger was a barrier between him and the pieces of myself that he could bruise, and I forged that barrier into a shield. I nodded over his shoulder, toward the door. “Get out. Now. I don’t want you here.” Mark’s jaw clenched, and I could see him fighting against the words I was throwing at him. That was fine. I leaned back a little against the counter, scratching my chest, my fingers brushing against the bite mark on my skin. I couldn’t even remember when it had happened. The sound of wood splitting filled the room as Mark’s claws gouged into my table. “I don’t _need_ you here.”

“You’re my _mate_ ,” he said, his brow furrowing. He took a step towards me, but whatever was on my face made him stop again. “It was supposed to be you and me.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, it was. And now it's you and Thomas and Elizabeth and the collection of kids you're racking up in Maine. If I'm honest, I'm not surprised that you've embraced the high life. It must be such a chore to drag yourself back here.”

Mark’s eyes flashed orange. “Fuck you. I would be here every moment if I could. Thomas needs me —”

“Oh well, if _Thomas_ needs you —”

“Thomas is my _Alpha._ He's _your_ Alpha.”

I laughed. I tossed my head back and laughed until I couldn’t breathe. Mark was staring at me, uncertain and uncomfortable, when I looked back at him. “You're kidding me, right? You're telling me you don't feel it?”

His eyes blinked wide. It almost looked like fear. “Feel what?”

I gestured between us. At the big emptiness that filled the room. “The _nothing_ between us now. We're not pack anymore, Mark. Thomas isn't my Alpha. You're not my mate. We're _nothing_.”

Mark flinched like he’d been slapped. The shock on his face turned to anger before I had to reckon with the guilt that had started to peak inside me. He stepped around the table, and I dropped my hands, gripping the edge of the counter with both hands to hide the unsteadiness that rocked within me the closer Mark came.

“You’re full of shit,” Mark said. His eyes were still orange, but they faded now back to their striking blue. His jaw was set, his face determined. _Where was this determination when Thomas took you away?_ “You can tell yourself that we don’t belong together all you want, but it doesn’t matter. I _choose_ you.”

“You _choose_ Thomas. And Thomas _abandoned me here._ I don't want anything to do with you.”

Mark took another step closer. He looked more serious than I’d ever seen him. “Tell me to leave.”

“Leave,” I said immediately. “Go.”

Another step. His eyes would have burned a hole through me, if I’d let him. “Tell me you want me to never come back.”

I lifted my chin, and met his gaze firmly. “I want you,” I said clearly, “to never come back.”

Mark stopped. There were only inches between us. I had to lift my chin to keep my eyes on his, and I hated it, I hated him, I hated the thrill that went through me to feel surrounded by him. Mark’s eyes dropped to my chest, and I _knew_ what he was looking at, I _knew_ what he was listening for. When he raised his eyes to me, they flashed orange once more. “Lie," he snarled.

The word thickened the air between us, tightening my throat. My traitorous heart pounded in my ears, and I knew he could hear every beat. When I put my hands on his chest, it was with the full intention to push him back, toward the door, out of my house and out of my life, but instead my hands curled into fists in his shirt, tugging him toward me as I pushed up on my toes to press my mouth hard against his.

It had been _so long_. The green flooding through my veins was tainted with violet, with blue, but it was still so strong that it made my head spin.

There was only a second of hesitation, of surprise, and then Mark was kissing me back just as desperately, his mouth rough and demanding on mine as he backed me up against the counter. My ass hit the bench, and I leaned back as Mark crowded over me, his hands roving over my naked back, up my sides, grabbing my shoulders, my face. They returned to my back, and I felt claws dimpling my skin.

I wanted to feel his _skin_ on my skin. I wanted to tear his clothes off. I wanted to tear him apart. He was warm, so warm through the thin layer of his shirt, and I was desperate to feel warm, to feel something. I could barely remember the sex that I’d had last night, but the thrill of it didn’t even come close to the way Mark kissed me. I hated how good it felt. “Fuck you,” I gasped against his lips, squeezing my hand on the back of his neck to keep him close. I dropped the other to the small of his back, pulling him harder against me and swallowing his grunt. “Fuck you,” I said, and then kissed him again.

There was nothing sweet about it. Nothing left of the nervous boy who’d kissed the guy who he had a crush on, out on the grass five years ago. That person didn’t exist anymore. I kissed him like I wanted to consume him, like I wanted to let him consume me, biting his lips and sucking on his tongue and moaning at the taste of him. He gave back as good as he got, his hands twisting in my hair, grinding against me so hard that the corner of the counter bit painfully into my lower back.

I could have stopped it. I could have pushed him away like I’d intended to, pushed him toward the door, and I knew he would have gone.

I pushed him back. And then turned and pulled him toward my bedroom, my mouth clinging to his all the while.

Before we even neared the bedroom door, Mark was rumbling in his chest, low and angry, and he pulled away from me when we stumbled inside, his eyes flashing as they darted around the room. I knew he could smell the man I’d picked up last night much more strongly here. I felt smug about it, and then guilty, and then pushed both of those thoughts away when Mark strode over to the bed, stripping the whole quilt from the mattress and letting it fall to the floor.

I stepped up behind him, intending to push him down onto the mattress, but he turned and grabbed me before I could. His large hands encircled my arms and he spun us until I fell back onto the bed, my legs hanging off the end. I sat up immediately, shifting forward until I perched on the edge of the bed, grabbing his belt and tugging him forward until he stood directly in front of me.

Mark’s belt buckle was a simple one, and it pulled open easily when I tugged on it with one hand. The other was working the buttons of his jeans open, and his hands were already sliding into my hair when I pulled his dick out. He was more than half hard already, and I watched him stiffen further as I stroked him, my fingers tight around his length. “Gordo,” he said roughly, and then cursed when I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around the head of his cock. “You — _fuck_.”

Keeping my lips tight around his head, I licked over the tip, tonguing at the slit, slipped down further on him so I could lap at his frenulum. His fingers tightened in my hair, his hips stuttering forward, and I wanted to make him wait, but I wanted to fill myself up with him more.

Closing my eyes, I took him in as deep as I could, moaning at the weight of him on my tongue, at the feeling of him brushing at the back of my throat. I sucked on him as I pulled back, and then sank back down on him again, swallowing him down, intending to wreck him just as much as he’d wrecked me.

It was only a minute or so before Mark pulled me off him by my hair, tilting my head back so I was forced to look up at him. I was panting heavily, saliva and precum wetting my lips, my cock aching as it pressed almost painfully into the zipper of my jeans. One of my hands still circled the base of his cock, and I palmed myself with the other, gasping at the rough friction. His eyes darkened, his lips parting, and I wanted to bite at them, to crawl inside him, to have him fuck me until I couldn’t remember who I was.

I’d never be able to forget who he was.

Letting go of my hair, Mark stepped back, and I caught my protest when he grabbed the hem of his shirt with both hands and pulled it up over his head. My mouth went dry at the sight of him. He’d filled out even more since the last time I’d seen him, his chest broader, his arms thicker.

I swallowed, and then cleared my throat, and then hastened to tear my jeans off when Mark stepped out of his. I leaned back when he approached the bed, expecting him to climb up on top of me.

Setting one knee between my legs, he leaned over me, one hand flat on the bed beside my head holding himself up above me. My body ached to feel the press of him all along it, but the way his eyes raked over me sent a different kind of fire burning through me. I groaned when his hand wrapped around my cock, shivering with every slow stroke, feeling more and more overwhelmed with it the longer his eyes held onto mine. I was tearing open, I was raw and tremulous, I was _blueblueblue_ —

Except that wasn’t _my_ blue. Waves of it hit me, dragging me under, and it didn’t matter that there wasn’t a bond, it didn’t matter that we weren’t pack. I could feel Mark’s sadness choking him, that _this_ is how we're finally coming together, in anger and hurt and pain, and I — no, I’m _not doing this._

I grabbed Mark by the back of the neck and pulled him down. Our mouths crashed together as I tried to drown out the blue by kissing him as roughly as I could. Finally, when I bit down on Mark’s lower lip, he growled, pressing his whole body down against me for a moment before grabbing me by the hips and pushing us both up onto the middle of the bed. I parted my legs, my skin itching for his as he lowered himself between them, sliding his cock against mine. I could feel him against me from knee to chest, and I rolled my body up into his, letting his warmth envelope me.

My breath was punched from my chest when his hand slipped between us and closed around the both of us, and I moaned into his mouth when I bucked up into his fist. He kissed me harder, his mouth a contrast to his tender touch as he jerked us both off.

I couldn’t have controlled my racing heart if I’d tried, and I didn’t care about what message it was broadcasting for Mark. I didn’t care if he could feel the anger that still seethed inside me, or how struck I was that this was _Mark’s_ body above me, his breath on my neck, the smell of his skin surrounding me. I’d dreamt about this since I was thirteen, since I’d kissed my friend for the first time and he’d told me that we had to wait.

I’d waited and waited and waited. I’d given up waiting, and then waited some more.

I didn’t want to wait anymore, not right now. Slipping my hand between us, I pulled his from our dicks and pushed it down further, holding my breath as his fingers slid between my cheeks and pressed against my hole. It wasn’t until I heard his growl that I realised I might still be stretched out from last night, but that was the furthest care from my mind as my muscles gave way easily under his probing fingers.

The bottle of slick was still on my bedside table, and I reached across for it, stretching as far as I could without moving out from underneath Mark to close my fingertips around it. I looked up at Mark as I pushed him back enough to bring the bottle between us, pouring the slick directly onto his fingers as they teased at my opening, but he didn’t hesitate before sinking his fingers into me.

I barely managed to cap the bottle before it slipped from my fingers, and my hands clutched at the closest thing they found. Mark’s shoulders. They were firm and solid under my grip, and I buried my face against his shoulder, moaning as his finger worked me open, quickly joined by a second, and then — oh fuck, a carefully deliberate curling of his fingers to massage the spot inside me that had my whole body shuddering. It felt so good, too good — I chased the good feeling, chased it desperately as I fled the darkness twisting inside of me, wrapping my hand around my cock and stroking myself in time with the way Mark used his fingers inside me.

“Is this —” Mark started, but I stuck my tongue in his mouth before he could say anything else. If the hungry way that he kissed me back was any indication, I didn’t think he minded.

It wasn’t long before Mark pulled away, and my body protested at the loss before his hands gripped my hips and rolled me over onto my stomach. I gasped, impressed with the display of power despite myself. I pushed up onto my forearms and knees when I heard the crinkle of a foil packet, shivering when he fucked more lube into me with his fingers.

I turned my face into my arm, almost revelling in how impersonal it felt like this. Almost. I felt sick to my stomach and like my heart was cracking open, but it had been cracking open for years now, and maybe if we could — if I could feel him like this, maybe I’d be able to finally move on.

The hysterical laughter left a bitter taste on my tongue when I bit it down.

I leaned back into him, my body aching for the one thing that I would let myself take from him, but Marks fingers stalled inside me. The only sound was his breathing, thick and heavy, and my heartbeat racing in my ears. He smoothed his other hand over the curve of my ass, slow and reverent, and the way that it shook through my walls and into my fragile heart terrified me. "Mark," I snarled, intending to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but then his fingers were gone and the words caught in my throat when I felt the thick head of his dick pressing pressing pressing against my hole.

A gasp, a groan, and he was inside me.

His hands were tight on my hips, holding me still while he thrust into me, filling me up with small, slow movements until he was buried to the hilt. This certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been fucked, and the last was only hours ago, but I felt split open in a way that I never had before. Every inch that he pressed into me made my chest tighten, until I couldn’t breathe for the fist that squeezed around my heart.

 _Mark_.

I could feel his hips against my ass, and he held himself there, grinding against me until I felt ready to crawl out of my skin with want. “Fuck,” I gasped, a curse and a demand all wrapped up into one, and heard a low rumble in his chest behind me. “Fuck, Mark — _oh_.”

He moved, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back inside me, making my head spin with the force of it. He pulled out again, slow, before filling me up once more, and I sank my teeth into my lip to hold back the deep moan that tried to fall out of me. When he next pulled back, I braced myself on my forearms, pushing back onto him before he could thrust in again and revelling in his surprised grunt. “Fuck me, goddamn you,” I cried, drunk on his body and desperate for more.

“ _Gordo.”_ His voice was strangled, and I wasn’t surprised when I felt the pinch of claws against my skin, his hands gripping my hips tighter.

But I got what I wanted. The only thing I could let myself want. _Use me,_ I threw at him, at the echoing emptiness where our bond once was, as he started fucking into me faster, falling into a rhythm that had pleasure bursting along my skin with every stroke. It was self-destruction at its finest, as I begged him with my body to tear me apart. I didn’t need whatever he would leave me with.

The world narrowed down to the way our bodies moved together, to the smell of his sweat on my back, to the sound of his grunts and moans in my ear. I spread my legs wider, angled my hips down to let my cock drag against the bedsheet with every thrust, and the new angle had Mark pressing against my prostate. One of his hands slid around to flatten against my belly, his fingers brushing against my cock but not holding it, just holding me as he bent over me. He pressed his face against my shoulder, and I trembled when I heard his long inhale. If my throat was sore, then it was from the sounds I made, and not the burn of tears.

His mouth closed over my shoulder, blunt teeth pinching my skin, and I felt half-crazed with desire and anger and hurt — and the painful, constant pull of my heart, no matter how I tried to shut it off. Words fell from my lips, words intended to hurt, words sharpened to a weapon by my own anguish. “Yeah, Mark,” I said, lifting my head to press my neck against his face. He moaned. “Bite me, yeah. Go on, do it, you fucking do it. _Mate_ me. You might as fucking well, right? If you’re going to be walking out the door as soon as you’ve had your way with me, you might as well make it hurt. Make me _bleed_.”

Except he didn’t. He pulled his head back, his whole body freezing and then trembling above mine. He was a throbbing heat inside me, a furnace all along my back, and I swore I could feel his heartbeat like a brand on my skin. He was holding himself up with one arm on the bed beside my head, and I watched his fingers clench in the sheet. “No,” he whispered, and I felt the word like a punch in my gut, but he wasn’t finished. He turned his face toward mine, and I felt the brush of his nose along my cheek before he buried his face against my neck. “Not like this.”

 _Not like this_.

Despite what he’d said earlier, despite what he told me every time, I’d given up thinking that this was a thing he would want. That _I_ was a thing he would want, in any kind of permanent way. The shudder that passed through me erupted from my mouth in a sob. _Not like this_. But maybe, still, someday, maybe there could be an end to this and we could be together, tied to each other in the most permanent way possible, heart and body and soul and magic twisted until nothing in the world could separate us.

_He still wants me. He still wants me._

The bottomless well of longing that I’d been trying to bury spilled out of me, blue and blue and blue pulling me down until it threatened to consume me.

But Mark. His arm tightened around me, and when I couldn’t manage more than a wordless groan, he slipped out of me, his hands gentle as he rolled me onto my back. He tried to pull me into his arms, heedless of the want in our bodies, but I pulled him into mine instead, knowing full well that he let me do it and, for once, not caring. I parted my legs, tugging on him until he settled between them, pulling my legs back until his dick rubbed at the cleft in my ass.

His hand curled around my cheek, forcing my eyes to meet his, and I was shaken by the care and concern there. And everything else, that I still felt too raw to name. “Gordo,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across my cheek. It was the first time I noticed the wetness there. “We don’t need to —”

Except we did. I did. I needed him. “Please,” I said, my voice thick. I took his face in both my hands and turned his face down to mine, kissing him as thoroughly as I knew how. _I need to know every inch of you_ , I thought as I licked into his mouth. _I need to burn this thing between us onto my skin, a greater magic than anything that I could ever ink there. I need you I need you I need —_

I cried out when he thrust into me.

It wasn’t like it had been before. It wasn’t like I’d had with anyone. Mark’s mouth barely left mine, even when we got so worked up that it dissolved into a mindless press of our open mouths together. I hooked my legs up around his waist, pulling myself up against him every time he moved in me, giving him back everything that I got. My hands explored every part of him that I could reach, tracing over his face, his shoulders, along the muscles of his back, while Mark’s gripped tightly at my thigh, his fingers holding the curve of my ass as he encouraged me to move with him.

His cock, stroking inside me long and slow, gradually pulling everything inside me tighter and tighter until I couldn’t stand it. Mine, caught between our stomachs, and then, slick in Mark’s hand. I clutched tightly at his shoulders, at the back of his neck, the sparks under my skin building and building and building.

Mark whined against my lips, and I opened my eyes to see his squeezed tightly shut. “Are you… I’m gonna… _Gordo_ …”

His hand barely moved on me, but it was large and a little rough and the perfect grip to thrust up into. He’d been moving slowly inside of me, in a rhythm that was almost torturous both in its speed and in how it made my throat tighten at how the tenderness of it, but all of that was falling away to the suddenly erratic movements of his hips. He was close, but so was I. “Yes,” I moaned, sliding my arms around him, holding him close against me with one while I reached down with the other to grab his ass, helping him move against me. He opened his eyes, and I trembled at what I saw in them. “Yes,” I whispered. “Mark, yes, I — I —”

I whined against his lips when he kissed me again. He was thrusting into me hard again now, making me tremble every time he filled me up, and I never wanted it to stop but I could feel it building in the base of my spine, feel it thundering through my blood as he pulled me towards the edge.

There was no falling. I crashed over the edge, my body clenching around him, my legs tightening, my nails digging into his skin as I shook and shook and shook. I cried out, turning my head into his neck, aware of every huff of his breath against my shoulder as he gasped and moaned right along with me. His hand stilled on my dick, still holding it gently as I spilled over my stomach. His fingers flexed over me as his hips stuttered against mine, snapping hard against them once, twice more before stilling and then — _fuck_ , I could _feel_ him pulsing inside of me, heard his broken moan like lightening through my bones.

Neither of us spoke as he pulled out of me. Mark rolled over, and I stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily as the world slowly realigned on its axis. I listened to the slick sound of him pulling the condom off, felt the bed shift as he leaned over to toss it in the trash can on the other side of the room. I felt cold, inside and out, as I waited for him to get up, to pull his clothes back on. Maybe he’d kiss me goodbye before he left, if I was lucky.

I squeezed my eyes shut when his arms came around me, unable to hold back the way that my breath came out as a shudder. I wanted to fight it, wanted to fight him, but I wanted to feel him even more, and I was weak, I was too weak with him naked in my bed, with his hand in my hair as he pulled my head against his chest. I relaxed against him, our legs twisted together, listening to the sound of his heartbeat as his hand smoothed up and down my back, the fingers of his other hand tracing the vines inked along my arm.

They’d bloomed. I hadn’t noticed, but the roses had bloomed, and now they were already wilting. I wanted to live in this moment forever, to feel this close to him forever. Or at least another few minutes.

It didn’t last, but I made it a few minutes before the words that were churning in my gut bubbled up through my throat. From the way Mark’s grip had been steadily tightening on me, I knew he could feel it building.

“You’re still leaving.” Mark’s hand stilled on my arm. “Aren’t you?”

The silence stretched out between us. It would have been easy to tilt my head back, or push myself up on my elbows and see his expression, but I didn’t want to. Instead, I stared numbly at the wall, at the old dresser with one drawer pulled slightly out, at the hamper with one of my work shirts hanging over the side.

I looked everywhere but at him, but I couldn’t block out his quiet sigh.

I couldn’t block out the feel of his skin, or the smell of his sweat, or the gentle way he touched me.

I couldn’t block out how much I wanted to hold onto them.

“We’ll come home soon,” he said, his fingers curling around my shoulder and squeezing. His face turned against my hair, and I felt his chest move as he breathed me in. “I know it. We have to. We _have_ to.”

I didn’t believe him. But I believed he wanted to.


End file.
